Lumberjack
by Gumnut
Summary: Grey had crept into his brother's hair, its colour streaked with age. A beard had grown in, giving him the appearance of the mountain man he apparently was. His shoulders still moved with that familiar surety and strength with each stroke of the axe, wood cleaving in two almost effortlessly. If it wasn't for the scar and the missing eye, the man would appear healthy.


Title: The Cabin

Part One of The Lumberjack

Author: Gumnut

17-20 Sep 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: Grey had crept into his brother's hair, its colour streaked with age. A beard had grown in, equally streaked giving him the appearance of the mountain man he apparently was. His shoulders still moved with that familiar surety and strength with each stroke of the axe, wood cleaving in two almost effortlessly. If it wasn't for the scar and the missing eye, the man would appear healthy.

Word count: 1387

Spoilers & warnings: This happened. Not sure where it is going, but it will drag me there, I'm sure. I'm still writing V. T. Green. This was written in three fifteen minute bursts first thing in the morning before work, parked on the side of the road. I have had sooo much support from you guys regarding this little bit of fic. I am ever so grateful. You guys are just so wonderful to me. I hope this fic lives up to expectations.

Timeline: Standalone

Author's note: This happened. I hope you enjoy it. :D

Disclaimer: Mine? You've got to be kidding. Money? Don't have any, don't bother.

-o-o-o-

He didn't know what he would find, but this wasn't it.

The log cabin was almost obscured by trees. If he hadn't had satellite imagery, he could have easily have missed it.

There was a path, but it could have been mistaken for an animal trail beaten by rain. The grass was wet, the conifers thick and the position isolated.

The last place he expected to find his brother.

As he approached, he could hear the thud of axe on wood. It brought up memories of his childhood, where that same brother had done the same thing.

It had him fearful and anticipating at the same time.

But then it had been so long.

He didn't mask his approach. In fact, he made sure he made noise, scuffing the ground with his shoes. The hill was quite steep and his breathing had increased by the time he passed through the last of the trees.

It didn't stop his breath from hitching the moment he saw him.

Grey had crept into his brother's hair, its colour streaked with age. A beard had grown in, equally streaked giving him the appearance of the mountain man he apparently was. His shoulders still moved with that familiar surety and strength with each stroke of the axe, wood cleaving in two almost effortlessly. If it wasn't for the scar and the missing eye, the man would appear healthy.

That and the lopsided frown creasing his brow.

John set his feet firmly on the wet ground and set his shoulders. This wasn't going to be easy. It was going to hurt. But...

"Hello, Virgil."

The chopping didn't stop, and for a moment John thought his brother hadn't heard him. But then...

"What does he want?"

John bit his lip.

"Virgil-"

The chopping stopped and his worn brother turned to him, glaring with one eye. "What does he want?"

Virgil always was straight to the point.

Very well.

"We need you."

The axe which had come to a rest on his brother's shoulder, was swung back into action, coming down with a solid thwack on the piece of wood on the chopping block.

Splinters flew everywhere.

"Not doing that anymore." And John could detect just that faintest of slurs that no speech therapy could fully remove.

Another chunk of wood was thrown on the block. The axe came down hard.

John sighed. But then he had never expected this to be easy.

"We need you, Virgil."

The axe stilled, this time its head on the wet grass as his brother leant on it. "Really. And what could you possibly need me for, John. A little muscle maybe?" The axe was swung lightning fast, wood cleaving effortlessly in its wake. "I'm sure Scott can find someone to do his heavy lifting. It's not hard."

"It is not Scott who is asking." An indrawn breath. "It is me."

The axe stilled again.

"What's wrong?"

About time. As if he would come here on a whim.

"Scott is missing."

The axe fell to the ground, its handle sighing into the grass. "What?" Virgil took a step forward before stopping his reaction. "What happened?"

John swallowed. "Business trip. Meeting on a luxury yacht. The yacht went down."

"When?"

"Day before yesterday."

He watched his brother visibly swallow. "I-" His shoulders shifted as he looked away a moment. "Gordy?"

"Can't get him out of the water. Still looking."

Despite the years separating them, John could see the gears in his brother's head turning. His instinctive need to protect his brothers coming to the fore.

"When I say we need you, Virgil, it isn't for your skills, or your physical strength. We need _you_."

That one weary eye looked up and caught his.

"We need our big brother."

-o-o-o-

Virgil eyed his brother.

It hurt to see him. A mass of guilt and memory. John was still thin, still tall, the absence of gravity kind to his features. Though, apparently, he still lacked the colour sense to find himself a decent shirt. He was almost exactly the same as he had been before...

Virgil closed his eyes.

His memory wasn't as good as it had been. That much he knew. A lot of before was a blur. Sharp moments stabbed at him. Smiles. Laughter. Tears. Moments of a life before. Brothers.

God, his brothers...

"Who?"

"We don't know yet. There is the possibility that it wasn't related to us, but to the woman he was meeting with."

"Woman?" Typical.

"It wasn't like that."

He was right. That was unfair.

But then, nothing had been fair for a long time.

He straightened his shoulders. "What do you want me to do?"

"Come with?" The turquoise of his brother's eyes were pleading in a way Virgil had never quite seen them do.

He had sworn he would never go back. Never set foot on that island again.

But Scott...

His shoulders dropped just a little. "Give me a minute to clean up."

John nodded and Virgil turned away from the chopping block and he knew it was more than a metaphor. If he stepped foot back into that world, the chances are he would never escape it again.

It would simply kill him.

Scott...

A shuffle of his feet and he grabbed the axe, striding up the hill to the cabin he had built with his own hands.

Apparently, the world wasn't ready to let him go.

-o-o-o-

John eyed his brother.

He watched pain flicker over his face and was forced back into memories none of them wanted to remember.

Virgil screaming, his face a bloodied mess, hanging from the bridge by one fragile hand.

Alan falling.

He shook himself and straightened. Nearly ten years ago and it still hurt so much. Shunting the thoughts aside, he followed his brother up the hill.

The cabin was neat, log hewn. John vaguely wondered how Virgil had gotten permission to fell trees, but something in the texture caught his eye. The logs were only facade.

He frowned.

Virgil shoved open the door and strode in, neither inviting or acknowledging his brother behind him. John caught the door and let himself in, eyes cataloguing everything.

Spartan was the word. Neat. Single occupant. There were only hints of his brother's unique presence. An easel sat in one corner, but it sported no art. A sideboard held scattered tools, a project in progress amongst them. Two doors led off the main room and Virgil disappeared into one of them, closing it behind him.

John didn't take a seat. For a moment he just stared around the room, taking it all in. It was Virgil who had shut them out, withdrawing from their family. John did understand why. Of all the brothers, he could empathise with the need for solitude and to lick one's wounds. But never had he thought it would last ten years.

Scott had not understood.

At all.

There had been hurt all round and some of it had yet to heal. If it ever would.

The room had a fireplace, but it was one in name only, the heat source environmentally sound if not as comforting as a naked flame could be. Above it sat a mantelpiece.

A single photo sat there alone and a young Alan grinned at him enough to break his heart.

It was the only picture anywhere.

John sighed.

God, Virgil.

Footsteps behind him and his brother scuffed into the room, a bag in one hand. He didn't speak, his eyes darting between the photograph and John. Lips thinning, he strode toward the door, shoving it open and wordlessly gesturing his brother through it.

John complied.

Nothing was said as they followed the track back down the mountain. Feet slipped on wet grass and left footprints in the damp clay.

He didn't miss his brother's sudden gasp as Thunderbird One came into view. John had parked her at the bottom of the hill, as out of sight as possible, stealth mode engaged.

Virgil wouldn't have heard her coming.

He didn't miss the sudden water in his brother's eyes or the way he shook himself, firming up his shoulders.

It had been nearly ten years, but for all that had happened, there was one thing John was ever so happy to do.

He could take his big brother home.

-o-o-o-


End file.
